Trinity
by LyricsToLifeContest
Summary: By remaining silent, Edward is letting the opportunity of a lifetime slip through his fingers. Blood is thicker than water, but maybe you can have both if you fight for them.


******CONTEST ENTRY FOR LYRICS TO LIFE CONTEST**  


**TITLE: Trinity**

**PAIRING: Bella and Edward**

**RATING: M**

**WORD COUNT: 9683 words**

**DISCLAIMER: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities or song lyrics herein. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**SUMMARY: By remaining silent, Edward is letting the opportunity of a lifetime slip through his fingers. Blood is thicker than water, but maybe you can have both if you fight for them.**

* * *

Now …

"_I miss my wife."_

There's at least thirty seconds of silence as the character's facial features morphs from somewhat joyful to overwhelmingly sad … bordering on a tearful expression on his face. My mind screams, "_oh my fucking God_." But, all that shit stays in my head as I continue rubbing the soles of her feet as she shovels spoonfuls of Häagen Dazs® Dulce de Leche flavored ice cream into her plump lips.

I follow as the ice cream is swallowed down her swan-like throat. The sight of her tongue peeking out from her lips as it swipes away some left over ice cream from the corner of her lip makes me wish to be to be an inanimate object … wish to be the ice cream she's licked.

"_We live in a cynical world … a cynical world. And, we work in a business of tough competitors."'_

More silence.

It's actually a lot of overacting, I think, from one of my favorite action movie stars, Tom Cruise. He's trying too hard to make me—us, those watching the movie—believe he's a natural romantic/dramatic actor.

He must be doing something right or the movie's screenwriter is akin to William Shakespeare when it comes to words because I watch in gaping awe as the spoon slowly falls from her perfect lips in slow motion. The ice cream is all but forgotten. From my peripheral vision, I see how engrossed she is in the silence on the screen, and I notice the condensation that had formed on the carton that is now dripping onto my couch. Suddenly, she blindly searches for the remote that's lying between us.

Finding it, she snatches her small feet from my lap. In a lightning fast maneuver, she is suddenly turned to the screen and the volume increases to the highest level. She leans her upper body toward the flat-screen and her entire body language screams rapt attention. Her hands clutch the remote, and another person would misinterpret the move as her need to control the movie, but I know it's because she wants to rewind or pause at will, when her emotions become too high.

I'm glad we paid the extra money for the surround sound, because her eyes light up as she realizes that she can now hear _everything._

"_You … complete … me. And I just had to—"_

Again, she leans a little more toward the screen, and my eyes are mesmerized by the simple beauty of her side-profile. Even though I can predict her next movements—a gasp followed by a sob which will be rounded out with fresh tears—I look forward to each as if it's the first time I'll witness them. The same thing happens whenever we watch this movie, and every time, when she finally cries … I fall in love with her anew.

"_Shut up …"_

She gasps, leaning in even more, to get every single word that Renée Zellweger is about to utter.

"_Shut up. You had me at hello."_

A sob that was hitched in her throat is released, as the infamous line is repeated. She tears up just as both stars run toward each other, trying to come to terms with their recently revealed feelings. She loudly exhales then presses the pause button.

She says nothing, nor do I.

She's staring at the suspended motion of the two characters hugging, and I am still eating up her side profile, wishing … hoping … desiring.

"That was beautiful," she whispers, looking absolutely endearing, while at the same time forlornly at the screen.

"Not as beautiful as you," I mutter, not loud enough for her to hear, but just so it's out in the atmosphere, and out of the deep recesses of my heart.

We lapse into another lengthy silence. It's not uncomfortable, but it's heavy … heavy with unspoken thoughts … unexpressed emotions … and repressed desires. And that is all rolling off of me.

After a while, after a long while, her lips part and my gaze lands on the lower one, the one that slightly juts forward, the one that requires no lipstick because it's—well they both are—naturally red.

_I yearn to feel the softness of her lips as they sigh or talk or even as they laugh._

But again that thought stays buried where all my other forbidden thoughts have resided since meeting her.

"I should, um, I should ..." She looks down at her watch.

"Am I rushing you to leave?" I ask, bumping her shoulder which elicits a grin from her.

_Ah, that face!_

Realistically, I know I should because we both have other places to be. She told me she only stopped by for a few minutes on her way across town yet, we've already shared a light meal that I cooked, and watched two hours of _Jerry Maguire_.

She shakes her head.

"Then relax." My hands slips, finding the remote, and pressing the stop button completely.

The sound of the television shutting off makes the only noise in the room; except for my thumping heartbeat. I press my hand over my heart, hoping to muffle the loud sound it's making in my ears.

_I wonder if can she hear it._

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

I feel as if my heart is about to burst from my chest.

"Why are you always so nice to me?"

_Because you own me._

But, again, that remains unsaid.

She's facing me fully. Her eyes remind me of a newly opened Hershey's Kiss. Her sweet smell, slightly tinged with the outdoorsy smell from the heat wave sweeping Pennsylvania, engulfs my senses, and makes me want her more.

Want what I can't have.

Want what could have been mine had I been more confident and less of a pussy, to use his words.

"Why shouldn't I be nice to you?"

Her face says so much, and it's just unfortunate that I don't speak 'Bella' because if I did, then the things I long to be able to understand, the things which always seems trapped behind her chocolate-hued irises, would be revealed to me in a heartbeat.

I fool myself into thinking that her eyes tell me of their yearning to be with me … that I am the man whose body sings to hers; that I am the one who is the sole owner and captor of her heart. But in reality, her silence is just that … silence … indicating she has nothing to say.

My mind searches for the reason behind the desperate look I _think_ I see on her face as she shakily inhales, and then exhales. Her lips quiver then she begins to nibble on her top one which has always been a dead give-away that she's nervous about something.

I am so aware of her.

Of her every move.

Of the little things most would miss.

Like the tendrils sticking to her forehead, framing out her heart shaped face.

Like the beads of sweat slowly dripping down her neck, and the hand she uses to trail down her chest.

I am aware of all of it even if I have difficulty deciphering every single action she takes.

I'm still aware.

I'm more aware of her than I am of myself. And it's been that way for a very long time.

**Then ...**

Sometimes it's hard for me to believe that I'm in my final year at Penn State. In another seven months, I'll be a college graduate with a degree in Business.

"I've seen you checking her out. Just go say hi, you pussy," he nudges my shoulder, hard.

_Well, I've been checking her out for the last month, since the course began, but it's kind of him not to mention that fact._

My view of the '_her_' in question is blocked as a familiar face sits in a chair nearby. I think I've overheard someone calling her Layla or Leah or something like that. Try as I might, my gaze comes back to '_her_' just as the genuine animation overtakes '_her_' features and she begins gesticulating with her hands.

Leaning back and staring up at the ceiling, I wish life—preferably mine—could be different. A sigh leaves my lips. "Just leave it be."

Their combined laughter reaches my ear. She has no idea that she has been the center of all our discussions since September.

"If you don't go talk to her I will just because you're being a dillhole."

She looks over in our direction as if she knows we're talking about her, and looks at me. Her eyes never waver from my face even as a hand covers her mouth to muffle the very audible gasp she's just voiced. Well, really, the entire class hears her, and as their attention lands on her, her face flames a lovely shade of red.

The few bodies milling about the room lose interest quickly. She hides behind her hair and her friend whispers furiously in her ear. I'm not sure what is said, but the other girl—Layla or Leah, whatever—also turns in my direction … and, now she stares.

But, her stare makes me uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

My lips tighten in anger. I turn my face further away, wishing I could hide from her perusal because I know what she's staring at.

My anger level increases the longer she looks at me—at my side profile—_at it_. From the corner of my eye, I see that she shoves Layla's or Leah's shoulder hard, and again, begins whispering.

Whatever the fuck her name is, the one with the name that begins with an 'L' and is just fucking rude, shrugs and faces forward.

But, '_her_'—the one that has captivated my attention for a month—peeks between the curtain of her hair, almost as if she's shy and smiles in my direction.

Her smile makes me tingle.

All of me tingles. Even _it_.

Unconsciously, my head turns back in her direction as I trail a finger along the curved scar, reminding myself that _she_ is not a possibility for me.

I say nothing to him, because I know by the statement he made a few minutes earlier, about me making a move; he's come to a decision about what he plans to do.

As if he's missed the non-verbal exchanges between the girls and myself, he stands, towering over me.

"Fuck it. I'm going to say hello by myself since you're being a pansy ass!"

As I wait for Professor Lahote, who is notoriously known for coming to all of his Marketing classes late, I try to pretend not to see him saunter toward them. I hear a giggle from the girl I can't remember her name which produces a loud chuckle from him.

However, _she_ remains silent.

I try to keep my gaze straight ahead, pretending to be unconcerned about their conversation, but I find myself straining my ears to see if she's fallen under his charm as most girls do.

I can't hear what is said, but he does look my way once or twice before grinning and carrying on talking to them. From my peripheral view, I see him lower his head, whispering what I would bet dollars to doughnuts are sweet nothings, and I hear her laughter from where I sit.

_Damn! Just hearing her reaction to him tells me that only my month-long fantasies of an 'us' will have to suffice._

Out of habit—even though it's long since healed and keloid over—I run my hand along it, feeling the smooth, grooved reminder of why she would never … could never, consider someone like me.

He comes back looking happy as a lark with a piece of paper in his hand. I'm tempted to ask what's inside, but I know already. It's her number. It has to be her number.

"You want to know her name?"

"No," I lie.

Deeply staring at me—his hazel eyes meet my green ones—and I know he knows I've just lied.

As my fraternal twin, Ant, whose full name is Anthony, has always had in internal radar on me. Since our birth, we've been able to pick up on each other's moods and emotions. It's a twin thing. But, the older we get, the harder it is for me to read him, while he's still able to see right through me, or so he likes to tell me.

Trying to keep my head forward even though I see, from my periphery, that she's facing me again, and just then, a ray of light from one of the dirty classroom windows beams over her hair, and I swear I see a halo making her visage look like an angel. The last person that bared a similar resemblance was the nurse who showed me how to care for my barely healed-wound so many years ago. I've not thought about the nurse in—

"... Swan," He nudges my shoulder then lifts his chin in her direction.

"What?" I say louder than intended, drawing the few faces in the class toward me.

"Lower your voice, you putz."

Since the incident, he makes it a point to call me the names he's called me since our childhood, reminding me of simpler times. Reminding of a boy he once knew who'd sling back inventive names, at him, out too. Even though the traces of laughter I hear in his tone make me stiffen, and they irk me, it also grounds me, too. Weird, I know.

And, because I know him like I know myself, I wait. I wait because he can't keep a secret to save his life.

He has to share.

He turns to me, his eyes are filled with excitement. "Her name is Isabella Swan, but she goes by Bella." He grins even as he looks at the retreating backside of another student walking down the aisle between us. "The one beside her is Leah, her best friend."

I hear nothing after he's shared her name. My mind now has a solitary focus.

Bella.

Her name feels good on my tongue.

Bella.

When I silently repeat the name, the first syllable rolls off effortlessly off my tongue while the second one elevates my awareness about the foreignness of her pet name.

He has all my attention now. I'm still trying to pretend not to look at her, but somehow I feel as if he picks up on my bullshit. The famous Shakespeare quote, 'thou doth protest too much' rings true in this very moment about my fake disinterest in his news.

As my eyes surreptitiously dart over to her, there's a small smile that's around her lips, and when I hear his not so eloquent, "oh shit," it breaks through my un-stealthy 'pretend' stare.

His eyes volley between where Bella is seated and back to me; maybe three or four times. As they land back on me, his eyes look unsure

Then, it's followed by a mumbled sentence that ends with "I knew it," since I'm still not paying full attention to him. He slaps his hand on his desk, and that really shakes me out of whatever trance Bella has me in.

"You, ah … you …?" He waves a finger between the air between Bella and me.

He doesn't have to finish his question. I know he's asking if it's okay, as if he needs my permission, to date her … to date Bella.

But, I lie to him.

I lie because he had the balls to approach her even though … "Nah, man, she's out of my league, but you got that." My finger inadvertently traces my scar again, reminding me why my lie is _really_ true.

He looks at me again, longer. And, I know he knows I've just lied … again. It's that twin thing.

_It'll kill me to see them dating, but she'd never go for me. And, Ant is a better choice anyway. He's carefree, funny, and not damned scared._

And she is beautiful. She would choose him anyway … 'handsome Ant', as the ladies call him.

Then, he gets a shit-eating grin on his face where I see all of his teeth.

His rubs his palms together and then laughs which makes him look like a creepier version of The Joker. That action makes me nervous because I know he's hatching a plan or plotting something devious. And, I know that it—whatever it is—will end horrendously, and I'll have to clean up his mess.

The scar is a blatant reminder of the price I've paid to clean up my brother's mishaps.

Professor Lahote's arrival stymies the cautionary words I wanted to share with my brother.

Before I know it, Bella and Ant are in a relationship, but so are Bella and I.

And it's the easiest thing for us.

She shares a lot about herself. Like her upbringing in Juneau, Alaska with her brother, James, and their parents who own one of the city's most visited, souvenir shop. As well as her dislike for snakes and frogs, which she calls icky, while shaking her upper body in disgust. She also tells of her plan to permanently live in a warmer part of the U.S. because as she says: "I've had enough of wintery months to last me a lifetime."

The more she shares, the more I find myself falling for her.

I share a few tidbits about myself. I tell her about our childhood romps at First Beach in our hometown of Forks, Washington. This makes her light up like a Christmas tree and I adore seeing it. I clue her in about my dislike of all furry animals, and how they give me the heebie jeebies. This makes her nod her head, firmly agreeing with my eloquent assessment. And, I reveal my secret love of the _Twilight_ series—the books and the movies. She chuckles, whispering her obsession as well, and introduces me to a website called .

There are also many things we don't talk about. She never asks nor do I volunteer information about the scar along my jawline, the two-inch one I've had for years. Sometimes, I feel her pointed stare at the left side of my face, and when I catch her, she quickly busies herself or prepares to leave.

It makes me wonder if she wants to know about it. Normally, I forgo reliving that tale by putting on my mask of aloofness that easily silences the questioning looks or the few bold ones that attempt to pull me into a conversation about it. Even after three years at the university, the few friends I've made have never dared to ask about my scar.

But, I find—the harder I fall for Bella—that I could, most definitely, tolerate telling it to her, _if_ she'd asked.

Strangely, she never asks.

One day, I comment on recognizing a particular fragrance she has emanating from her, and how it compliments her. It seems that fragrance is now all she ever wears. I love opening the door of the dorm room I share with Ant and breathing in her natural scent mixed with the perfume. I always take a few moments to greedily inhale her lingering aroma as if it is my personal Balm in Gilead. Once or twice, I've taken too long, breathing her in too deeply, not realizing she was still in the room. Our eyes would meet, and she'd hold my gaze as a wisp of a smile hovered around her lips which prompted me to immediately duck my head in embarrassment.

I also love seeing her on my bed in her most comfortable pose, hair in a ponytail with two pens sticking in it while she pours over notes from a class. Most times—well, many times—Ant leaves us to our own devices; her to her studying and me to my studying … of her.

I'm glad when she begins leaving a few pieces of herself in our room. After spending enough alone time with her, I know she isn't a messy person like Ant, but she's a bit forgetful, and I'm so glad for that quirky trait of hers. I secretly treasure the things she's leaves behind.

Like her Chuck Taylors that I pair up and put under Ant's bed.

Like her Penn State pullover that casually hangs on the back of Ant's chair. I may or may not sniff it on occasion when I find myself alone in our room.

Like her hair tie thingies that are mixed in with the rubber bands on my desk.

She's even in my dreams; smiling mysteriously at me while wishing I'd been the one to talk to her first.

She's even back with us on our school breaks when we go to visit our parents. During this time, Ant skypes® Bella, and oftentimes, he pulls me into their conversations and eventually leaves once she and I start to talk about things he says holds no interest to him, like travelling or community service.

I never understand why he leaves because I know he enjoys volunteering and that, after graduation, he wants to take a year or two off to backpack through India.

Even though Bella and I are strictly friends, I continue to hunger for her, and I'm thankful she's unaware of my secret fantasies. Still, I'm respectful of the relationship she shares with Ant, too.

Strangely, Mom gets excited when Bella and I talk, and sometimes, when we're skyping, Mom and Dad pop their head in to say hello to Bella and express their desire to meet her in person.

As I said: strange.

I don't understand them and usually Bella's flushed red by the time my parents leave the room. Occasionally, they all share a laugh that speaks as more than _just_ a simple laugh. But again, it's not something I can decode, nor have they chosen to include me in on its meaning.

I take it all in stride.

At least, I try to.

She's with Ant, and _he_ is the tie that binds us three.

I mean my brother is an upstanding guy. The few girls he's brought around, he's always treated decently and respectfully.

I expect nothing less from him in regards to how he treats Bella. Our father, Carlisle Cullen, is a clinically trained Relationship Expert, as well as, a Professor at the University of Washington. He's consistently shown us how to treat a woman, especially the one you claim to be 'the one', through the example he sets with our mother, Esme.

I know he will do right by her.

The months whiz by and soon they've been together for close to four months.

Around this time, I begin to hear his muttered grumblings about Bella. At first, I think he's joking, but then, his words changes; they became louder and now have transformed into full-blown complaints.

So help me God, I wish Ant would stop telling me his relationship issues.

He talks to me and looks at me patiently, as if waiting for me to say something.

But, I don't.

Then, he becomes angry, and, I don't understand it.

At the same time, she talks to me and looks at me patiently, as if I hold the answer to the questions floating in her eyes.

But, I don't.

Then the light dims from her eyes and she really begins to cry.

All I do is I listen.

And I wish things were different … silently, of course.

However, my unresponsiveness still doesn't stop them from hounding me with their problems. Most times, while Ant is complaining about Bella, all I can think about is hauling off and punching him in the face.

One day, in a study room, tucked away in the back of the library, I find myself with the Bella. Even though our friendship is rock solid, I now constantly remind myself who she's with so I don't expose how I feel about her.

A folded piece of white paper slides across the table toward me. The slender fingers capture my attention longer than is seemly necessary, and I swallow the lust that her mere digits evoke. I stare down at the handwritten note and try to remember why I'm in the library.

But, I can't because Bella has just pushed a note in my direction.

My heart is in my throat and I feel nervous perspiration form along my upper lip, imagining what her hand has penned me.

She wrote me!

As the thought settles in my brain and I realize that this—her note in my hand … to me—is a momentous occasion. I slowly unfold it, hoping her words are filled with her longing to be with me.

I open it fully and read the four, short words:

**What's wrong with me?**

That is all she wrote.

In damn block, letters.

My heart misses a beat. It stutters and I swear it takes at least a minute for me to prompt myself to breathe.

Seated side by side, she quickly turns in her chair and her eyes arrest me. There is so much swirling in their depths that they become, even though unspoken, palpable to touch. Reaching out, I graze her cheek—and I realize that it feels softer than I've ever imagined it would—and a tear tumbles from her eye.

The round liquid lands on her cheek and not being able to help myself, I capture it. Her eyes fasten on mine as I capture it on my index finger and bring it to my mouth, savoring the taste of her.

It's Bella's tear, and thus special.

"What's wrong with me, Edward?"

The loaded question hangs in the air—between us—completely rendering me mute.

I'm not sure how long I'm silent as I weigh the best move, but her soul-crushing sobs hammer through my indecisive psyche, and my actions surprise even me. I grab her by her waist, awkwardly bringing us to a standing position and I fold her into an embrace.

And she's so warm.

And soft.

And so Bella.

I feel her tears going through the thin, cotton material of my crew-neck shirt, and all I want to do is comfort her.

I say the first words that come to my mind.

"Nothing."

As I mumble out the word, Bella's lips brush over mine—briefly even though they linger. I'm too shocked to say anything, and she doesn't acknowledge the intimate moment, resting her head on my shoulder.

**Now …**

I lean back on the stainless refrigerator watching Bella.

We've moved from the couch to the kitchen island bar. She has glass of San Pellegrino sparkling water that she's sipping from while I'm nursing a can of Coors Light®.

A chuckle pulls my attention from the floor and onto her face. It fades to a grin. "Do you ever think about what happened in the library room three months ago?"

_Hell yeah! I should have kissed you back_, my mind screams.

Then I should have shared what was inside my heart.

"Nope," I mutter, stomping down my nervous penchant to run my finger along my scar.

Lying is easier and much better for me, than the truth.

Something passes over her eyes. I can't quite tell if it's resignation, hope, or another emotion. My imagination conjures up that it's hope and so, I latch onto it. I fantasize that she too wishes that I'd kissed her.

It passes quickly—my fabrication of a hopeful look from her—and is replaced by her usual animated look. She swallows the last bit of water, jumping to her feet.

"Let's play a game."

And because I'm a sucker—I think _A Fool in Love_ is the song that would aptly describe the last nine months of my life—I don't ask questions, I readily comply; even though both of us are late to where we're supposed to be … her, hanging with Leah and me, meeting up with Ant and some friends.

Back in the living room, she sheds her blue sweater and is gorgeous in white jeans that hug her curves and a yellow top with thin straps. Her hair is down and the overhead light flicker onto the blonde highlights bringing the lighter hues out in her eyes.

She suggests Truth or Dare and asks me to choose.

"Truth."

"How did you get your scar?"

Not quite the truth I want to share, but I guess, it's time.

Blowing out a breath, I bring her back with me to Forks High; to 2006 when Ant and I were a month shy of our fourteenth birthday.

"_My brother has always been a big flirt. He really thinks he can charm almost anyone. One day, out of the blue he started talking about a sophomore by the name of Angela Webber_." I look at Bella to see if I could detect any jealousy. "_Everyone knew Angie, as she was called, went steady with Aro Volturi. Aro was a mean son of a bitch and had graduated from Forks High the year prior. Anyway, Ant and Angie were in some after-school club together. Soon after, Ant would show me love notes Angie had written to him. He got a kick out of an older woman pursuing him_." I laugh at the memory.

"_I warned him to stay away from her. But, he's so damn nonchalant about everything. He said that since she was the one chasing him, Aro's problem wouldn't be with him, but should rightfully be with Angie. I'm not sure how Aro discovered they were sneaking around behind his back, but he did, and found the two of them lip-locking in the auditorium when they should have been packing up to go home at the end of their club meeting_." I pause, angling my body toward Bella.

"_Ant revealed how Aro found them to me and told him to watch his back. Even as Ant was re-telling his adventure, as he called it, he had a smile on his face not taking Aro's threat seriously. I told my brother that Angie's boyfriend wasn't someone to play around with, but Ant brushed me off. Even before this," I tap my jaw, "I was the cautious one, while Ant was the kind of person that saw every situation through rose-colored lenses. A couple of weeks went by and he stayed away from Angie, and Aro didn't confront him_."

My eyes leave her face and look at the gentle swaying leaves on the oak tree right outside our apartment. I feel her hand clutch mine as if she knows I'm about to tell her the grittiest part of my story. "_We both thought nothing more of Angie or Aro after that. A week later, I'm packing up the crap in Ant's locker because he'd left school early with flu-like symptoms. I heard heavy footsteps behind me, but I was too busy concentrating on the fact that it was the last day of the school year and daydreaming about spending my summer hours at Habitat for Humanity that I drowned out everything around me_." To this day, I wish I had not done so. "_By this time, the hallway was deserted. A voice I didn't recognize called my last name. I turned and was shoved against the locker, hitting my head really hard_." Later on we all figured that Aro had come for his revenge.

"_He asked me if I was Ant. Not knowing exactly what he intended, but guessing he wanted to hurt my brother, I lied and told him I was_." Bella gasps. "_All I remember is feeling a burning sensation from my ear to the corner of my mouth before collapsing. Next thing, I'm waking up in the hospital, bandaged, and being told how I'd lost a lot of blood. My family came close to losing me. I was told my mother was inconsolable and my father cried for hours_." Tears fall from Bella's eyes and I smooth my hand over one of her wet cheek.

"_I'd never let someone hurt my brother. Ant took it the hardest. The hospital sent him home the day I was rushed to the emergency room, and he wasn't allowed to see me until he recovered from his illness. They wouldn't let him give blood for the blood transfusion I needed, although he was a universal donor. That devastated him. Even before the scar, it didn't seem like girls gravitated toward me. Ant played wingman for me because I never understood when girls were sending me vibes; you know?_"

Her lips open as if to add something to my monologue, but I shake my head.

"_It's hard to feel confident about your looks when the mirror reminds you how imperfect you are._" I lift my shoulder in a shrug. "_Since then, I'd rather avoid social settings where I know people will gawk at me and stare at my scar. And, that's my truth._"

I exhale and force a laugh from my throat, hoping to lighten the atmosphere dampened by my trip down memory lane.

She looks at me for a long time. The cushions in our couch shift with her weight and I feel her slightly parted, wet lips on my scar. They're soft and the kiss soothes something inside of me faster than all my years of counseling.

"Edward, any woman would be lucky to call you hers."

I shrug again, trying to distract myself from her kiss.

"Enough with the heavy." I plaster a grin on my face. "So, truth or dare?"

Hoping she takes the bait and sees my desire to switch the topic, I'm glad when she mutters dare.

"Dial the number of the last person you spoke to on your cell and tell that person he or she is sexy."

The snort that leaves her mouth brings remind me of her adorable, quirky nature.

She reaches for her phone that she'd laid on the living room table when she'd first arrived. I feel a vibration on my leg. My hand fishes my phone from my pocket, and I see her face on my cell phone screen. The blush that I adore spreads across her cheeks. Eyes glued to mine; she touches a button, but remains quiet.

I hear her heavy breathing through the phone.

I see her chest moving, rapidly, up and down.

"You're sexy as hell," she tells me.

My own breathing is now labored.

"Edward, _any _woman would be lucky to call you hers," she repeats.

I hear the sincerity and truth in her words.

And.

Time.

Stands.

Still.

I remember another time when time stood still for us.

**Then …**

I hear the howling winds of the March weather outside as if it's trying to uproot the oak tree in the front. Only this morning, the Meteorologist predicted snow, and I was hoping to get my brown-eyed beauty back to campus before the first snowflake hit the ground since I no longer trust myself to be alone with her.

Ant had called earlier and said he wouldn't be home tonight. I look into her stormy eyes and feel a sense of dread.

It's been over a month since our 'kiss' in the library.

"What the matter, Bella?"

We've been sitting in my bedroom of the apartment I share with Ant for the past hour or so.

Bella tells me Ant may be seeing someone else.

Her revelation doesn't sit well with me. That's not the brother I know. That's not the man our father raised him to be. He's with Bella and this isn't okay for him to do.

The odd thing is that as time has moved forward, neither of them seem to be in a rush to end things between each other. They just keep hanging on.

When they fight, or need some time apart, she ends up in my room … in my bed. My arms are the ones she seeks. And, strangely, my brother never seems to care. Maybe he trusts that I would never … could never …

Except that _one_ time which I still haven't revealed to him. And, I doubt Bella has either.

When she's not around, he goes into detail about all the things that bother him about her. The more silent I remain during his rants, the angrier he becomes, but I'm not sure who he's angry with.

Truthfully, what could I do?

Tell him to leave.

He'd be a fool to leave perfection.

To leave Bella.

All the things he dislikes are the things that make her uniquely Bella.

Her too-loud, almost borderline unladylike, laughter and snorts.

Her love of _The First 48_ that shows her inquisitive nature.

Her morbid, his words, fascination with _The Walking Dead_.

Her lack of interest in cooking, but her desire for a spotless living space, which Ant has labeled as OCD.

These—and more—are the things that tick Ant off about Bella. Yet, these are the exact things that endear her to me.

I'm snapped out of my utter confusion about Ant's view of Bella when she blows her nose. I can't help the chuckle that comes from my gut when I hear that sound, but it's quickly swallowed when I look into her face. She unleashes those soulful eyes on me. They suck me into her very being and bring out the protectiveness I've always felt about Bella. The unshed tears in them make me want to kick my brother's ass and shake some sense into her.

"What's wrong with me, Edward?"

Again with this question.

How should I know why he can't see her as the rare jewel she is?

How should I know why he would look at anyone else when he has Bella?

They've been together since October and the idea of them together … I expect they will someday be together … in _that_ way … and it's going to kill me.

That'll be too much. It _will_ be hell!

She repeats her question and I think I detect an undertone of anger: "What the fuck is wrong with me, Edward?"

Maybe the curse is for emphasis since her first one went unanswered.

_What to tell her?_

My brain racks for a logical answer that won't make me seem disloyal to my brother—my flesh and blood—but give my heart, Bella, some measure of truth.

Since we seem to be playing repeats tonight, I give her the same answer—because it hasn't changed from then to now—as I'd told her in the library's study room.

"Nothing."

But, this time I mentally add that my brother can't treasure her because he doesn't see … he won't ever see her how I see her.

Her eyes search mine, and for once I wish God hadn't made our hearts, or the mysteries they hold, so hidden. Because I want to unlock what lay hidden inside of her, but alas, I don't have the key.

My guess is Ant does.

Her head rests on my shoulder, and her breath on my collarbone is the sweetest feeling, tickling the tiny hairs there just right. I'm not sure why I do, maybe it's the touch of Bella's hand tipping my chin downward, but as I turn my head in her direction, I'm surprised by her quick movement and the placing of her lips on mine

Soft.

Tender.

Feather-like.

Tentative.

That's how her lips feel against mine. The growl in my throat erupts, and before I'm aware of what I'm doing, I have her straddling me.

I take over.

I don't think about Ant.

I don't think about her belonging to someone else.

I go for it.

I kiss her with everything I have.

I pour my long repressed emotions into the care my tongue takes with hers. I unleash my desire for her as my lips slant this way and that way, begging for more … for a wider entrance.

Which she grants me.

My hands slip up and under her shirt. She moans, grinding her lower half into mine, making me painfully hard.

I go for the spot that I've labeled, in my head, as mine. I dive for her neck. Sucking, biting, tasting, and licking it.

Her lips are free to do what they need—exhale or inhale. Her next words lengthen me further, if possible, and caress my heart.

"Yes. Yes, Edward."

"Bel—"

"You, Edward." She peppers my jaw, my face, everywhere with kisses.

My mind is mush. Thoughts are jumbled and incoherent.

"Take me …"

In the background, the house phone rings, but I let the answering machine pick it up.

Our next words stumble and bump into each other's, but we still share them.

"I've waited so—"

"I'm—"

The caller doesn't leave a message, but not a minute goes by and the house phone rings again. Then stops as it goes unanswered again. When my cell begins to ring, I know I have to answer.

"I have to …"

"Fuck!" she screams, and the word, coming from her lips again, signals her frustration, and is too cute.

We separate.

I get the phone, and hearing the person's voice on the other end, I mumble my own expletive.

I hand her the phone and walk out the bedroom door, on my way to leaving the apartment altogether. I don't want to wait around to hear what they talk about.

As I'm walking past the bathroom, I overhear her saying: "We were almost … No … We were about to …"

But, I don't stick around to hear anymore … for my heart to be broken as the lovebirds reunite.

I slam the door, jogging to my car as I pray for a quick end to this misery that has become my life.

**Now ...**

I can't take the stillness anymore.

"If I'm so lucky Bella, why I can't have a woman like you?"

"You—"

My phone alerts me of an incoming text message. Glancing down I see it's from Ant.

Bella looks like she may need a moment—hell, I need a moment—I give her an apologetic smile and walk toward my bedroom.

As I enter my bedroom—I hear water running in the bathroom—I open up the message, seeing his request for me to call him.

I debate what to do, but I already know what I will do. He's an ass, but he's my brother. He may need me or could just be making sure I'm still meeting up with him.

My fingers dial his number.

There's music in the background. I bet he's having a good time, while Bella is here, wallowing in self-doubt.

"What the hell do you want?" I yell. _When instead I want to bark out, "Are you with someone else?"_

The music continues to blare in the background.

"_What's with the third degree?_" he yells back.

I hear the bathroom door open, and then her footfalls are heard on the hardwood floor in the hallway letting me know she's walking toward the living room. Just having her here makes me get impatient with Ant. "You said to call. What do you want?"

"_Whoa. Is that how you are talking to your big brother now?_"

His husky chuckle sounds as if smokes two packs a day, when he doesn't.

My voice is brusque, thinking about his lackadaisical treatment of Bella.

"What do you want, Ant? I'm busy." My voice lowers at the last part, hoping she doesn't overhear me.

"_I just want to tell you to go for it … go for yours, bro._" He's chuckling, again, but I also hear the seriousness in his tone.

"What the hell are you talking about? Are you drunk? Bella, will—"

"_Always worried about Bella. I wonder why, Edward?_"

He doesn't sound mad or jealous.

He sounds resolved.

But, he's speaking in codes that I have little interest in deciphering right now when all I want to do is get back to the woman in the living room.

Hearing the slur in his voice, I know he's talking out of his ass. "Anthony Cullen, are you fucking drunk? I'm coming to get you."

This is my brother after all; sure he's with the woman I yearn for, but, she loves him. She'd be devastated if anything happened to him. And, well, I don't want her sad or heartbroken. I'd give anything to keep her from experiencing that. I'll hate leaving Bella or asking her to leave, if she wasn't ready … cutting our time short, but I'd go get my brother … just for her.

"_I don't need you here, Edward. I need you where you are. Just, fuck, man, just go for it! I need to do right by you for what you did for me in high school. It's there right in front of you. Take it! There's not too much time left!_"

He hangs up the phone.

My hand presses redial twice and then I give up. I send a text to the rest of the other guys that were to hang with him tonight. When, Bella rang the doorbell earlier on, I was on my way out to join them to celebrate Ant's upcoming trek through India, but Bella's arrival halted my leave.

A quick text from our college buddy, Ben Cheney, assures me that he's the designated driver for the group, that my brother is okay, and for me to enjoy myself.

Huh?

Releasing a pent-up sigh—of relief?—my mind goes back to what he said. What he literally commanded me to do.

_Just go for it._

When I look in the mirror, the man's reflection staring back shocks me. Desperation is evident in my eyes. I can't believe I've pinned away … loved Bella … desired her for close to a year!

Where the hell did the time go?

One minute I prayed Ant and Bella would blow over quickly. He'd let her go and then maybe, she and I would … could …

But, that never happened. She's still here in his life, and by extension in my life, never realizing, never knowing how much I want her.

How much I need her.

How I want to marry her.

She doesn't know that she should be my Mrs. Cullen … Mrs. Edward Cullen.

_Fuck!_

Ant's words confuse me and various thoughts swirl around my head. He'd said: _go for it._

What did he mean?

Well, he's right about one thing: there is no time left.

She should be leaving in a few minutes.

"_Just go for it!_" he'd demanded.

I push away from the mirror and walk out the door with more determination to right the wrong … to say the things I should have said when I saw her first in Professor Lahote's class.

Approaching the last bend before I'll be in her full sight … in full view of Bella, I make my footsteps heavier.

Hoping to give her time.

Just more time.

Maybe to leave.

To leave so I won't do what I've been longing to do.

So, I won't go any further.

That I won't experience her rejection when I tell her how I feel about her and she tells me that Ant is the one for her.

So, I won't betray my flesh and blood.

Even though I want her to stay.

_Desperately_.

I want her to stay because I want to do more than get some stolen kisses from her ruby lips.

I want it all … from her.

As I round the corner, she's standing by the vertical blinds looking through the sliding glass door, and when she hears me, she faces me. For the first time since barreling into my life, I'm read Bella.

She's letting me in.

In her eyes.

Into her soul.

They tell me what she's intent on doing.

What she's determined to do.

With me.

Right now.

We both rush to each other.

She jumps. I catch her and her legs lock around my waist. I grasp under her butt and keep her in place never losing contact with her savory lips. I spin her around, sitting her on the bar stool she'd sat on earlier.

Just as my lips graze her neck and my tongue is about to take a taste from her, I hear the sound system coming on.

_Fuck my life._

I pull back, embarrassed.

And why shouldn't this night continue on its awkward path?

The song—which in my head is the song we dance to at our wedding—that I've programmed to play, on repeat, reminds me of three things.

It's Friday.

It's nine o'clock at night.

And, I'm a fool.

A fool for not remembering to shut off the auto-programming.

I hear the telltale snapping of fingers, and then Ginuwine's voice comes on and he begins to sing the words I've longed to tell Bella.

_Fuck_.

My groan is audible.

But, Bella, as I gaze at her, is sitting and listening without judgment. And, there's a small smile on her lips.

Encouraged, I mouth along with him, palming her ass, pulling her closer to me. Letting her feel what_ she _does to me.

Without realizing it, my voice raises a decibel, singing the words:

_This is my story and I'm telling you_

_It's not fiction, it's surely a fact_

"Bella, this song …"

I have to stop, catch my breath as the singer pours his heart out about being completed by the woman he loves.

"This is how I felt … how I feel …" I grab one of her hands and place it over my thundering heart. I push myself more into her, circling my pelvis into hers and she doesn't push me away.

Tears glisten her eyes the more he sings, and I drop my head in the crook of her neck, simply breathing in her scent. I trail kisses up the column of her neck, taking her earlobe in my lips … sucking, pulling, tugging, and then nibbling.

As her body sways to the lyrics, my mouth hovers over the outer shell of her ear, and I croon to her, whispering the singer's words, because they're truly how I feel.

The words pierce my heart, and my voice join him in singing:

_I'm so happy, I'm so happy, baby, oh, yes, baby_

_Share my world_

_Come and share my world, baby,_

"Please?" I breathe out, compelling her to say something … anything, even as the song continues.

My hands have a mind of their own as they try to touch every part of her. Her shirt is bunched up, and when my fingers skim over her bare skin, I revel in touching her semi-nakedness.

And, she enjoys my hands on her, if the mewling sounds in the back of her throat are any indication.

Her skin is like the finest silk. My hands easily glide over the expanse of her stomach and her hips roll into me.

And, I'm lost.

Lost in her movements and the lyrics; the perfect lyrics about a woman who is 'the one' for me.

Her hands pull my head back to her … to her lips, and I'm grateful when her legs lock around my hips, trapping me in place. She continues her sensuous gyrations, and I'm hypnotized by every circular motion her heated center makes against me. I try to regulate my breathing as I feel myself hardening even more; if that is possible.

_How the hell can she feel this damn good and she's still clothed? _

I raise my head and look at her high cheekbones, the slight tilt of her eyes, and her long eyelashes as well as the other fine details of the woman in my arms.

The song reaches what I want her to hear. What I need her to hear me say.

Over the musician, I get her attention by whispering her name, and asking her to open her eyes. When they stare at me, I see they mirror what I've felt close to a year, and the weight that's been on my chest lifts … making me lighter, even as tears drop from my eyes.

I serenade her with the singer's lyrics that are so clearly reflect my emotions:

_My whole life has changed_

_Since you came in, I knew back then_

_You were that special one_

_I'm so in love (You were that very, very special one),_

_So deep in love_

"Edward—"

My lips crash into hers, needing to taste her.

Needing to breathe her in. To savor this moment.

"I've always known. Bella, I've known since that damn class …" I trail, chuckling, then groaning as her lower half resumes torturing me.

Her nails scrape down my back, sending tingles along my spine and goose bumps rise on my forearms.

"It's always been you. Never … we … Ant and I …" she says through kisses.

Not wanting to hear his name from her lips, I silence her with another kiss.

"You don't … shit, Edward, yes …"

I suck on her neck, hoping to leave a mark there.

"Edward," I feel her head shake against mine and then her fingers grasp the sides of my face.

"Wait."

My lips move away from the spot.

"Stop."

Like a bucket of cold water, that word chills me and my movements, and I start pulling away.

_I guess she really is Ant's. Damn it!_

The songs loops back to the beginning and my shame at exposing my feelings to her is acutely painful and leaves me uncomfortable.

"No. No, what are you doing?" She grips my shirt, pulling me back toward her.

I attempt to back out of her embrace; a groan leaves my lips as I reach for her legs to unwrap from around my waist.

Her legs tighten, keeping me in place and now I'm confused because I know she said stop.

"You're such an idiot."

She exhales, and just the release of her breath in my direction makes my dick jump and lips itch to get back onto hers. "I said stop because well … um, Ant and I, well, we were never together _together_ like you think."

Her eyes look shy.

I rake my hand through my hair partly in frustration and confusion and partly to get it out of my face.

"What are you saying?"

She laughs, but it sounds sad. "For someone so smart, you're also dumb."

"You're not making any sense here," I tell her in exasperation.

Her hand finds my jaw, caressing it, and then, trailing a finger along my jawline ... along my scar. "Edward, I'm in love with you. Ant did this for you. We've just been trying to get you … to get you," She pauses, "To admit your feelings for me."

_Wait? What now._

She smiles. "Ant, um, he's been trying to get us together since we met in Professor Lahote's class. All of our complaining about each other didn't move you, we thought his 'cheating,'" She air quotes. "Would … might push you … but, then you've haven't said anything."

The words from the song are messing with my concentration. The lyrics that make me happy while listening to them and imagining Bella, aren't bringing my girl to a place of happiness. The tears streaming down her face are not happy.

She drops her hand from my face. Our gazes are locked on each other. "What's wrong with me, Edward?"

For the first time since she's uttered that question so many months ago, I truly hear what she's asking.

When the singer talks about being blinded by his lover's love, I wonder what the hell I've done to Bella, to the woman that owns my heart.

I've known she was it for me even before Ant approached her, and yet, I've not said shit for all this time!

_What's wrong with her?_

She's been wondering that, when she should wonder what is wrong with me. With blind me!

And, like the other times when she asked me that question, I repeat while kissing the corner of her lip: "Nothing."

"If you don't—"

I shake my head to stop her from making any assumptions. "I'm and idiot. Such an idiot." I tip her chin up and push some wayward strands from away from her face. "I'm sorry. Baby, I love you, so damn much that it drives me insane."

Her smile is blinding.

Lowering my voice, I place my forehead on hers. "I didn't know. I thought someone like you," I swallow the fear in my throat, thinking about my scar. "Would never want me."

Her hands snake around my neck, pulling me closer toward her upper body. "Why would I want anyone else but the man of my dreams standing before me? _Any _woman would be lucky to have you, Edward."

Hearing her repeated words makes me stand taller.

My cell phone begins to vibrate and I already know who it is. Not letting my girl go, I take the phone from my back pocket.

"Yeah?"

Bella is still smiling at me, and we are both swaying to the music, again. Her head is resting on my chest and I think … no I know, that I feel damn good.

"_So we're good?_"

"Yeah."

An emotion wells in my chest, choking me for a release. "Thanks, Ant." My free hand roams up Bella's back toward her hair.

"_I'm just glad you came to your senses_" He laughs. "_Thought I'd have to marry her to get you to wake up. Now get your ass down here so you can meet my real girl, Leah_."

I end the call, grinning.

I plant a kiss on her forehead. "Thanks for waiting for me."

And, instead of answering me, now she sings along with the music, cluing me in on just how long _she's_ loved_ me_ as well.

_My whole life has changed_

_Since you came in, I knew back then._

**The End.**

* * *

**Song: Differences, Ginuwine**

**You Tube Link: www dot youtube com / watch?v=1ctt02WQl1k**


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